Wednesday, September 20, 2006

They shot Cornbread! He wasn't doing nothing! Nothing!

They did it. I knew they’d do it but I still can’t believe they did it. Spoiler alert people. I’m about to rant and where I end off is anyone’s guess. Bill Foster is dead. No. Bill Foster was murdered. Murdered by a supposed clone of a White God named Thor. In the Civil War (yeah I’m reading into it, this Afrogeeks, fool! What the hell did you expect, fair and balanced reporting?) Issue number 4 on sale from your white retailer today, you will find the death of one Bill Foster, A.k.a. the black goliath. For those of ya’ll not in the know, Black goliath used to run shit back in the day. Ok well not really. He only had four issues on his own and his only major power was that he could grow really tall. But still, he was one of the few, one of the proud black super-heroes. I and my boy Sinclair were going to make him the father of the new Brother Voodoo in our pitch to marvel. But no, instead I have to write the brother’s obituary. It’s the only combat obituary of the civil war, making me madder than a nun in a whore house.

Strangely enough family, I am not mad at Marvel for this travesty. Writer Mark Millar does not gain my wrath for this ignoble termination. The comic book industry as a whole shall not be made to stand against my wraith. I blame the 3 6 mafia. Why, I hear you ask? What do no talent simple wanna be thugs have to do with the death of Bill Foster, a.k.a. the Black Goliath? Simple. If those dimwits hadn’t recorded and performed that “It’s hard out here for a pimp” song to the praise of white people and the deafening silence of so called Negro leaders, then the world at large wouldn’t be aware of the general apathy of black people. We don’t even care anymore that a black character is killed. Shit, you could have Blade gang raped by the great Lake avengers in front of Power Pack and everyone would bemoan the poor Power children’s damaged psyches for eons before giving one thought to Nubian half vampire’s pride and sphincter.

The truth is Bill Foster deserves no grand epitaph. He was a B-rate character and even less developed superhero. But when I first started working in a comic books store years ago I found all five issues of his series and read them with they type of wonder I listen to old church albums with; “Do people really enjoy this?” My heart is weakened this afternoon because the brother is off the books and there isn’t even an attempt to fill that role these days. The black audience in comics, despite our fierce loyalty is disregarded past the Black Panther, which I do love. Bill Foster, the character was older than I am, created in 66 or 67, but he never had much of a life. In the need a knock off of an Aryan pride symbol cashed in his playa card and only his white boss who organized the lynch squad (Tony stark, Iron man) came to the funeral. No black man should go out like that. Even a make believe one.